Drowned baby TL

parts 41-50

DBTL 41: Like Shattered Jewels

Toyko, Japan
16 September 1950

Marshal Peter Voronov stood silently amid the ruins of the Imperial Palace. Around him, Red Army soldiers were directing Japanese conscripts in the task of clearing away the rubble. His attention was focused on a winch which was slowly raising a bundle from within a pit.

Indistinct at first within the shadows of the pit, as the bundle rose up into the slanting afternoon sun it resolved itself into a human body. It was a man wearing a bemedalled uniform, the jacket and trousers stained brown with dried blood, intestines spilling out from a gaping wound in the abdomen. The bespectacled face with its thin mustache was composed. Even in death, Voronov could recognize the face that, in demonized form, had graced millions of patriotic posters across the length of the Soviet Union: Hirohito, the late Emperor of Japan.

For nearly six years, the USSR had been locked in mortal combat with the Japanese Empire. The Red Army had driven the Japanese from Manchuria, then from China, then from Korea. The Red Air Force had then slowly, at great cost, driven the Imperial Japanese Navy from the Sea of Japan. A vast armada of troop transports and escort vessels had been built up at Port Arthur. Battling attacking Japanese aircraft all the way, the invasion fleet had sailed from Port Arthur in April 1949, paused at Kwangju to take on board three divisions of Red Army troops, then steamed across the Korea Strait to land at the southwestern tip of Honshu. Constantly reinforced, preceded by a constant rain of artillery shells and rocket bombs and by Red Air Force jets dropping load after load of incendiaries, the valiant soldiers of the Red Army had forced their way along the island to the broad plains surrounding the Japanese capital.

Many was the time Voronov had wished he had atomic weapons at his disposal, to clear the way for his troops and level every building on the island. But the League of Nations jealously guarded its atomic monopoly, as the world had learned during the Los Alamos Crisis. The Red Army had had to subdue Japan the old-fashioned way, city by city, block by block, house by house.

Marshal Voronov watched as the body was loaded into the back of a General Motors truck (GM had sold trucks to the Soviets; Ford had sold them to the Japanese) and driven off. Then he turned away, and looked up into the clear sky that was reflected in the blue waters of Tokyo Bay. The Japanese Empire had been destroyed. Now it was time to begin building the Japanese Soviet Socialist Republic.

DBTL 42: Brain Drain

Newark, Delaware, USA
5 March 1948

If there was one thing Isaac Asimov hated more than traveling, it was moving, which was just like traveling, only permanent. Nevertheless, when his wife Irene told him about the job offer in the UK, Asimov did not hesitate.

"Take it," he told her.

"But what about your position with the University?"

Asimov shrugged. "Assistant Professor. Big deal. I don't have tenure, and I only make thirty-five hundred a year. The advance alone for _The Caves of Steel_ was bigger. I make five times more writing than I do teaching. The University of Delaware can have their assistant professorship."

Five years earlier, Asimov would never have dreamed of quitting a steady job and trying to support himself by writing, but times had changed. After Hemingway had published _To Sail Beyond the Sunset_ (and especially after the release of the film version), science fiction had taken off. The jaded readers of _Astounding Science Fiction_ might dismiss Hemingway's effort as simple (though well-written) Doc Smith space opera, but the general public had been captivated. William Faulkner and Richard Wright had written their own critically acclaimed SF novels, and Asimov found his own stories being discovered by the critical establishment. In the last year he had seen two of his own stories turned into films, the wretched "Nightfall" and Orson Welles' brilliant adaptation of "Evidence". John Campbell had confided recently that the circulation for _Astounding_ had tripled since Hemingway's novel had appeared.

Irene, though, was still unsure. "It would mean uprooting ourselves. We'd have to build completely new lives for ourselves in England."

"Wales, actually," Asimov said absently. Before Irene could become annoyed at him for correcting her, he continued, "You've been telling me for the last two years how frustrating it is working at Dupont, how they're always playing it safe." Irene's group had been investigating the production of unbranched polyethylene chains. It had the potential to be a breakthrough technology, but the management at Dupont had been slow to see its commercial possibilities.

Asimov had become convinced that Irene's troubles with Dupont were part of a wider problem. The Great Depression had changed America, and in Asimov's opinion it had not been a change for the better. The epic days of Washington and Lincoln had gone, and with them were gone a certain hard daring and resolution. The Depression might be over, but the habits of caution and frugality it taught had become permanent parts of the American national character.

Things were different in Britain. The British had triumphed over the Germans and faced down the Italians. Under Attlee they had begun to turn away from their old imperial past and to forge a new future. British scientists and engineers were in the vanguard of the Atomic Control Commission's efforts to build atomic power generators. British rocket scientists were designing continent-spanning aircraft, and nobody doubted that they would one day send a rocket orbiting the earth. And British materials engineers were pressing forward where their American counterparts were hanging back.

At least a dozen of Asimov's friends and acquaintances, here in Delaware and back in New York, had moved to Europe in the last year. America was the past, Europe was the future, it was as simple as that. And Asimov wanted his wife and himself to be part of that future.

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" said Irene at last.

Asimov nodded confidently. "I'm sure."

Catching her husband's confidence, Irene said, "All right, then. I'll tell Dr. Ziegler that I'm accepting his offer." Taking a deep breath, she added, "Next stop, the United Kingdom!"

DBTL 42 1/2: Three Days in October - Prologue

London, Great Britain
2 October 1949

Prime Minister Anthony Eden looked up from the classified ACC report to see Edward Teller, the organization's Deputy Director, looking at him with that intense expression he habitually wore. God, but it gave him the willies.

"I don't suppose there can be any question about what the Americans are doing at Los Alamos," said Eden.

"None whatsoever," said Teller. "They are planning to test a uranium fission device sometime this month."

"But dropping an atom bomb on the place seems a bit, oh I don't know, perhaps the word I'm looking for here is harsh."

"Mr. Prime Minister, they are flouting the authority of the Atomic Control Commission."

"Well, I suppose, technically," said Eden. "But it's not as though they're going to go out and start tossing the things about higgledy-piggledy, are they? They may be a bit stand-offish, but I think we can trust them to show appropriate restraint when the time comes."

Eden could tell from Teller's expression that he wasn't buying it. "Mr. Prime Minister, what the Americans might choose to do with their weapons is not the issue. The issue is whether or not the League of Nations is serious about maintaining control of atomic power throughout the world. If we let the Americans defy us, then what will we tell the Russians when they come to us in a year's time and say 'We too have developed atomic weapons, and we too feel no need to yield control of them to you'? It is the thin end of the wedge, Mr. Prime Minister, the slippery slope. If they insist on building atomic weapons, then we must insist on keeping control of them. If they refuse us, then we must act to forestall them.

"It is therefore the recommendation of the Atomic Control Commission," Teller concluded, "that if the Americans do not surrender control of their Manhattan Project, we must employ an atomic device of a size sufficient to completely obliterate the research facility at Los Alamos."

"Errrm, how big?" said Eden.

Teller gave Eden a stern look. "As big as necessary, sir."

"And you want *us* to do it? England, you mean?"

"Only the UK and the Polish Commonwealth have the means to deliver the device to Los Alamos," said Teller, "and the UK is closer to North America. Also, it
will be necessary to use Canada as a base for the attack, and Canada is a member of your Commonwealth."

"But I say," Eden spoke in some desperation, "won't the Americans become rather, erm, *angry* at us?"

Teller smiled what he perhaps thought was a reassuring smile. "It will not come to that, Mr. Prime Minister. Once they recognize the cost of intransigence, they will accede. They will have no choice. There will be no need to actually use the bombs."

"Bombs? I thought you said we would just need the one?"

Teller looked surprised. "Mr. Prime Minister, one *always* employs a backup in case of unforeseen contingencies. It is common sense."

"Very well, Dr. Teller," said Eden. "Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. I'll have a decision for you in the morning."

"But, Mr. Prime Minister, this is of the ut--"

"In the *morning*, Doctor."

"Yes, Mr. Prime Minister."

DBTL 43: Three Days in October - Part One

Ultimatum

Washington DC, USA
14 October 1949

In the last thirteen years, President Edward Raczynski of the Polish Commonwealth had gained a reputation as the most persuasive statesman in the world. In 1936, as the Polish ambassador to the Court of St. James, he had persuaded a reluctant Stanley Baldwin to declare war on Germany. In 1944, as the Polish Foreign Minister, he had persuaded a reluctant Konoe Fumimaro to declare war on the USSR. Two years ago, as the Polish Prime Minister, he had persuaded a most reluctant Antanas Merkys to rejoin the Polish Commonwealth. Now the recently-elected Polish President was in Washington, and Alben Barkley had a pretty good idea who would be next on Raczynski's persuasion list.

Of course, it was just coincidence that Raczynski happened to be in Washington at this particular time. Wasn't it? After all, practically every head of state or head of government in the world was here to pay their last respects to the recently departed former president Franklin Roosevelt. The fact that it was also ten days before the scheduled detonation of America's first atom bomb in the New Mexico desert couldn't possibly be involved.

There was no question that FDR's stroke had been the result of natural causes. Barkley was absolutely sure of that, having seen the autopsy report himself. So there wasn't a chance in hell that Raczynski had come here to Washington just to talk to Barkley about the secret atom bomb project at Los Alamos.

Barkley had told himself that a hundred times, and he still didn't believe it. Raczynski was here about the Bomb.

Still, even though Raczynski had requested a private meeting with Barkley, there was no need for Barkley to agree. It might be discourteous as all hell, but he could still give Raczynski the bum's rush if he wanted to. It wasn't like Raczynski would have raised a big stink about it if he did.

But that wasn't really the way Barkley did business. Much as he had admired FDR's political skills, he had no desire to emulate his predecessor's devious habits. If Raczynski wanted to talk, then Barkley was prepared to listen.

The oval office would have been a more impressive setting, but it was just a bit too public for a nice private meeting between two statesmen, so Barkley met Raczynski alone in his secretary's office. The Polish President was wearing a dark blue suit with a red-and-white striped tie. The two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, sat down in a couple of nondescript wooden chairs, and got down to business.

Raczynski reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out some folded up sheets of paper. When Barkley unfolded them, he was not entirely surprised to find himself looking at a copy of a report from General Groves that had crossed his desk four days earlier. The original, he knew, was sitting inside a manila envelope in a wall safe in his private quarters not a hundred feet from where he was sitting.

"In ten days," Raczynski said in his musical, moderately accented voice, "your country intends to set off an atomic bomb, in direct contravention of the League monopoly on atomic power."

"Mr. President," said Barkley, "as you know perfectly well, the United States is not a member of the League of Nations, is not party to any agreements reached by the League, and consequently is not bound by any agreements reached by the League."

Raczynski was slowly shaking his head. "Mr. President, although the League has been vested with sole control over the production and use of atomic power, through the agency of the Atomic Control Commission, the government of the Polish Commonwealth does not regard this control as limited only to the production and use of atomic power by League members, nor do the governments of the United Kingdom, the Kingdom of Italy, or the Republic of France. We regard this control as being exercised over the production and use of all atomic power, everywhere in the world, by both League members and non-members."

Raczynski gave a slight smile then. "After all, it would hardly be much of a monopoly if we let anyone ignore it who wanted to."

Barkley kept his own face expressionless. "Mr. President, it would be an unendurable abrogation of our national sovereignty if we were to allow the other nations of the world, individually or in combination, to dictate to us on matters of our own national defense."

Now Raczynski's face became equally expressionless. "Mr. President, the forces which have been let loose upon our world are too powerful to be allowed to remain the sole property of any one nation. We are prepared to use any means at our disposal to prevent that from happening. If you do not declare your nation's willingness to abide by the terms of the Geneva Accord within forty-eight hours, it will be the duty of the Atomic Control Commission to prevent your nation from making any unauthorized use of atomic power."

"Is that your final word, Mr. President?" said Barkley.

"It is," said Raczynski.

"Then this conversation is at an end."

Raczynski sat and stared at Barkley for a long moment before standing up. He turned and walked with steady calm from the office, closing the door carefully behind him.

Alben Barkley, sitting alone, feeling every second of his seventy-one years, let his head fall forward into his hands. The next two days, he knew, would be the longest of his life.

DBTL 44A: Three Days in October - Part Two

Vigil

Washington DC, USA
15 October 1949

Alben William Barkley, 34th President of the United States, stood alone in the East Wing of the White House, staring down into the casket that held the mortal remains of his friend and predecessor, Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

Far away in Los Alamos, New Mexico, he knew, General Leslie R. Groves and Dr. J. Robert Oppenheimer were putting the finishing touches on a uranium fission bomb they called Little Boy. He knew that Oppenheimer, at least, had misgivings about the project, since it was in violation of the League of Nations' self-proclaimed monopoly on atomic power. But Oppenheimer was a patriot, and despite his misgivings he had worked tirelessly to reproduce the work of his colleagues in Italy, Britain, France and Poland.

Equally far away, he knew, in Alberta, Canada, were three Royal Air Force rocketplanes, waiting to put a final end to Dr. Oppenheimer's project by dropping their own fission bomb on Los Alamos. The United States, after thirty years of peace, had nothing in its own meager arsenal that could keep those planes away from New Mexico.

He had until noon tomorrow to make the decision: give in to the League, and let their Atomic Control Commission take over Los Alamos, or stand up to them, sacrifice Los Alamos, and risk war with the League.

His whirling thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. He turned to see Eleanor Roosevelt, dressed in her widow's black.

"Hello, Alben. I'm sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted..."

Barkley smiled, relieved to be distracted from his thoughts. "That's just fine, Eleanor, don't you worry about it," he said, turning on the Southern charm.

"Thank you, Alben."

They stood side by side for a time, looking down into the bespectacled face. Then Barkley said, "Eleanor, what do you think he would have done?"

There was another period of silence before Mrs. Roosevelt said, "He would have done what was right. He would have done what was best for America."

"But what is right? Is it right to allow the League to interfere in our internal affairs? Is it right to defy the whole world for a principle? Is it right to risk war? Is it right to back down?"

Mrs. Roosevelt was silent once more, before saying, "Franklin would have found a way. He would have found the right thing to do."

Barkley heard her footsteps carry her away.

For a long time after that, there was only silence. Then Barkley heard another set of footsteps approaching, a man's set this time.

"Hello, Alben," said Harry Hopkins.

"Hello, Harry. Did Eleanor send you down?"

"No. I came here on my own."

Silence returned for a time until Barkley said, "Harry, you probably knew him better than any man alive. What do you think he would have done?"

There was a brief silence, then Hopkins said, "He would have done what people wanted him to do. He had the best political instincts of any man I knew. He knew what people wanted, what they needed, sometimes when they didn't even know themselves. He would have given them what they wanted, and told them why they wanted it, and when he was done explaining, they would have known that it was what they had wanted him to do all along."

"But what do they want? They don't want war, but they don't want to let the League tell us what to do either."

Hopkins said simply, "Franklin would have known what they wanted."

Barkley heard Hopkins' steps go off into the distance, and he was alone again.

An eternity seemed to pass while Barkley stared down into the casket. It seemed odd seeing Franklin without his leg braces. He wondered idly whether they ought to have included them, but immediately dismissed the thought. That wasn't how Franklin thought of himself, and it wasn't how he wanted others to think of him.

Another set of footsteps made their way across the hardwood floor. Barkley looked up, and was surprised to see Jack Garner.

Garner grinned at the surprise he saw on Barkley's face. "Wasn't expecting to see me here, eh Alben?"

"Well, you and Franklin didn't part on the best of terms."

Garner laughed that cracked laugh of his. "Ain't it the truth? But I had to come and say adios. He was a hell of a man, and the best damn President this country's seen since Andy Jackson."

Barkley found his spirits rising. He had been feeling terribly old ever since his meeting with Raczynski, but seeing Garner was guaranteed to make any man under 75 feel young. Nine years older than Barkley almost to the day, Garner was one of those evil old men who got older and older, but never died.

"What do you think he would have done, Jack?" Barkley asked.

"Something devious, Alben, that's what. He was the most devious man I ever knew, and coming from a Texan that's saying something!"

Barkley sighed. "Jack, it was being devious that got us into this mess!"

"You mean trying to get our own atom bomb without the League knowing?" Garner gave that cackle again, and said, "Naw, that ain't being devious, that's just being sneaky. Devious is a whole nother ball of wax. Devious is making Joe Kennedy head of the SEC. Hell, devious is making Joe ambassador to England. Old Frankie knew how to be devious." The cackle came once more, and Garner repeated, "Frankie woulda done something devious. *Real* devious. And he woulda got away with it, too!"

And laughing that horrible laugh of his, Garner left Barkley alone again.

Barkley stood beside the casket for a time, then turned and went back to the big office with the Presidential seal on the floor. He lifted the handset of his phone and said, "Dwight, I want you to get the Polish embassy on the line."

DBTL 44B: Three Days in October - Part Three

Proposition

Washington DC, USA
16 October 1949

This time, Alben Barkley made damn sure that the meeting was held in the Oval Office. He was going to need every advantage he could get.

Dwight ushered Edward Raczynski, President of the Polish Commonwealth, into the room, and Barkley rose from behind a desk large enough to land a B-17 on. "Mr. President," he said, "it's a pleasure to see you again." Which wasn't strictly true, but wasn't entirely untrue either.

The two men shook hands, and Barkley led Raczynski over to a pair of lushly upholstered armchairs.

"Can I take it from my presence here," said Raczynski, "that you have decided to comply with the League's request?"

"Not exactly," said Barkley.

There was a perceptible drop in the room's temperature.

"Then what, exactly, if I might ask," said Raczynski, "have you decided to do?"

Here goes, thought Barkley. All or nothing. "Mr. President, I've asked you here this morning in order to apply for admission by the United States to the Warsaw Pact."

Barkley could hear the clock ticking away on his desk. He could hear the distant murmur of traffic out on the Ellipse. After a very, very long pause, Raczynski said, "I beg your pardon?"

"Mr. President, the people of this country would never, ever consent to membership in the League of Nations. They would never consent to allowing the Atomic Control Commission to take charge of our atomic research project. Resentment against France, and especially Britain, is just too high to make that possible. However . . ."

"Yes?" The expression on Raczynski's face was one of puzzlement slowly turning into surprise.

"However, the people of this country have nothing but respect and admiration for the Polish Commonwealth. They've seen your people face adversities that would have crushed other nations, and not only survive, but prevail and triumph. If you don't mind my saying so, you rather remind us of ourselves. The liberals love you for beating the Germans, and the conservatives love you for beating the Russians. The American people would never agree to join the League of Nations, but many would be proud, and most I think would be willing, to join with you in the Warsaw Pact."

Now Raczynski's face showed nothing but interest. "And how would this resolve the current situation?"

"Well, Mr. President," said Barkley, "if we were full members of the Warsaw Pact, then of course we would be prepared to share military information with you. I'm sure that a delegation from the Commonwealth Army would be welcome to serve as a liaison between the Manhattan Project and the Commonwealth General Staff."

"And if the members of this delegation also happened to belong to the Atomic Control Commission?" Raczynski inquired.

"Well, naturally, the liaison staff might be expected to have a hobby or two when they were off duty. Just as long as they don't go around wearing any silly orbiting electron badges when they're on the job, everything should be all right."

Raczynski sat in silence for a time, then said, "Mr. President, by any chance, was it a Pole who suggested this course of action to you?"

Barkley thought back to the three conversations he had had during his vigil in the East Wing the previous day. "No, Mr. President, I don't believe any Poles were involved."

"It's just that you practically have to be Polish to appreciate the subtleties involved." Raczynski grinned suddenly and said, "I'll have to consult with my counterparts in London, Paris and Rome, but I don't believe there will be any insurmountable obstacles to your proposal. And speaking unofficially, as a citizen of my country and nothing more, I believe that my countrymen will feel honored to have the United States as an ally."

The two men rose and shook hands again, and Raczynski left to begin his consultations. Barkley went back to sit behind his desk, and happened to glance at the clock. It was 9:53 AM.

Two hours later, three aircraft bearing the concentric circles of the Royal Air Force and the orbiting electrons of the Atomic Control Commission were already passing over Hudson Bay on their return flight to the United Kingdom.

(This post is for Jussi Jalonen, who knew I'd be writing it before I did.)

DBTL 44C: Three Days in October - Epilogue

Alamogordo, New Mexico
24 October 1949

Dr. J. Robert Oppenheimer sat in the bunker at Alamogordo as the clock counted down to zero. Despite the dark glasses he wore, and despite having his eyes closed, he could see, hell he could *feel* the flash as Little Boy detonated within its tower. He cautiously opened his eyes, then stood up to peer through the six-inch thick leaded glass window that faced the distant tower. Seeing films of the tests in Murzuq and Alice Springs had done nothing to prepare him for the reality.

As the mushroom cloud rose and the shock wave from the explosion passed through the bunker, a phrase came to him from the Bhagavad Gita, and he softly spoke the words aloud. "Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds."

Then, with a glance at his companion, he translated the words into German and explained their source.

"I think you are being too pessimistic," Enrico Fermi replied in the same language. "Had there been war between your country and the League, then you would have cause for pessimism. As it is, the forces that have been unleashed here today will remain under control -- if not quite the sort of control the League was expecting."

Oppenheimer found comfort in Fermi's words. The resolution of the Los Alamos crisis had lifted an increasingly heavy burden from his shoulders. He no longer need fear that the fruits of his labor would be used to destroy London, or Rome, or Paris, or would provoke the League into destroying Washington, or Boston, or New York.

President Raczynski had demonstrated his usual flair for imaginative diplomacy in choosing Fermi to head the Polish "liaison team" to Los Alamos. While playing an instrumental role in Poland's atom bomb project, Fermi was not, and in all likelihood would never be, associated with the Atomic Control Commission. His former countrymen in Italy, who still viewed him as a traitor, would see to that.

"Do you think all this will work?" Oppenheimer asked, indicating Fermi's colleagues from Lublin who had joined them in the past week, and by extension the Polish-American alliance that had allowed both sides a way out of their dilemma.

Fermi smiled confidently and said, "We all have the strongest possible motivation for making it work -- the desire to live."

Oppenheimer was not as certain as Fermi. He was one of the few people in America who knew just how close the outcome had been -- how close he and the other researchers in Los Alamos had come to dying in a burst of atomic fire like that of the still-growing mushroom cloud that he could see lighting up the New Mexico desert. How close the whole country had come to a second World War fought with atomic weapons.

The desire to live had won out this time, aided by President Barkley's diplomatic sleight-of-hand, but would it always?

Despite the heat in the bunker, Oppenheimer found himself shivering.

DBTL 45: Some Men You Just Can't Reach

London, Great Britain
17 January 1951

"Oh Lord, not again," said Anthony Eden, and it was not so much blasphemy as a heartfelt prayer.

"I fear so," said Edward Teller. He was holding a classified ACC report in his hand, just like the one he had shown Eden sixteen months before. "We have clear evidence that the Soviet Union set off an atomic explosion one week ago. Radiation levels around the world have risen to levels comparable to the detonation of a fifty-kiloton device. Radioactive decay products have been detected that are consistent with those produced by the fission of plutonium-239. Data from various seismology stations show that an explosion of that magnitude took place on the tenth of this month near the Siberian city of Nizhnevartovsk. There can be no question about it. The Soviets now have atomic weapons."

"Erm, exactly where is this Nizhnewhatsis place?"

Teller opened the report to one of the appendices, showing an outline map of the USSR. The town was marked by a star with an arrow pointing to it.

"Good Lord," said Eden, "that's the middle of nowhere. I don't think we have anything that can fly that far."

"You are correct, Mr. Prime Minister," said Teller mournfully. "Nizhnevartovsk is beyond the reach of any aircraft currently in our possession."

"So what are we going to do? Do you have any recommendations?"

"There are of course the standard guidelines laid down in the Geneva Accord," said Teller. "When a nation demonstrates the ability to make controlled use of atomic energy, it is to be offered membership in the Atomic Control Commission, and qualified Commission members are to assume control of any and all facilities for the production and use of atomic materials."

"That didn't work very well with the Americans," Eden pointed out.

Teller gave a distinct *harumph*. Eden knew that Dr. Teller was dissatisfied with the resolution of the Los Alamos crisis. By joining the Warsaw Pact, the United States had become a de facto member of the ACC, even though it maintained de jure independence of that body, as well as the League of Nations. It was, Eden knew, just a stopgap measure until American antipathy towards the League and the Commission had abated enough to allow them to formally join both organizations.

In all fairness, it had to be said that the Americans had shown a surprising amount of enthusiasm for their new alliance. The Americans and the Poles had taken to each other like long-lost siblings. Donov's and Burger Tsar restaurant franchises were spreading across America, along with Polish-style volkshäuser communities. The Poles for their part seemed fascinated by American cinema and television, and Polish men from all walks of life were growing American-style goatees. The two countries' recorded music industries had practically fused together, and popular songs seemed to come and go simultaneously in America and Poland.

"I fear that the American solution to the Los Alamos crisis is one that the Soviets will be unable to adopt," said Teller.

"No chance of Russia joining the Warsaw Pact anytime soon," Eden agreed. "So if they don't sign on to the Geneva Accord, just what *are* we going to do?"

"Regrettably," said Teller, "the Soviets are not vulnerable to any of the League's standard forms of persuasion. They cannot be threatened with expulsion since they were expelled at the start of the Eastern War and never re-admitted. They cannot be threatened with economic sanctions since their economy is almost entirely self-contained. They do not make use of any League aid programs, so they cannot be threatened with their termination. We are forced to come to the conclusion that if indirect methods of persuation are insufficient, we may have to resort to direct methods."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," said Eden. "It sounds to me as though you're proposing that we attack the Russians."

"Mr. Prime Minister," said Teller, "it may ultimately come to that."

Eden was shaking his head. He still woke up with nightmares of what might have happened if the Los Alamos crisis had turned out wrong. The world had been lucky once; Eden didn't think they would be lucky twice. With a resolution he wished he had shown sixteen months earlier, he said, "No, Dr. Teller, that is simply unacceptable. The costs of a war with Soviet Russia would be astronomical. There must be a better way. After all, we found a way with the Americans."

"Sir, the Americans were willing -- barely -- to accept the substance of Commission control in return for the appearance of national autonomy. I do not believe that the Soviets would behave in a similarly rational manner."

"Well, if we could find a way to bring the Americans along, then we can jolly well find a way to bring the Russians along too." Eden closed the report and handed it back to Teller. "Doctor, I don't want to see you again until you can present me with a workable alternative to a full-scale war with the Russians."

"Mr. Prime Minister, there may be no such alternative."

"Doctor," said Eden as he raised his eyebrow in reproof, "there are *always* alternatives."

DBTL 46: The Carrot and the Stick

Paris, France
28 January 1951

As the Director of the League of Nations Atomic Control Commission, Werner Heisenberg was one of the most visible men in the world, which made it awkward on those rare occasions when he wanted to move in secret. As a case in point, his current trip to Paris to visit a man who officially was not there, and in fact had vanished off the face of the earth some four years before.

Heisenberg eventually solved his problem by glueing on a false goatee and dressing in an unbearably tasteless suit of clothes, which caused all who saw him to assume that he was a visiting American tourist. As such, he was able to travel the city in total anonymity as he made his way to a certain apartment in a certain neighborhood to visit a certain man who had once gone by the name of Igor Vasilievich Kurchatov.

The man who had once been Kurchatov had little difficulty in recognizing his fellow phycisist. "Herr Director," he greeted his guest in German, "what brings you here?"

Heisenberg winced at the use of his title, even though the two of them were safely ensconced in Kurchatov's apartment. "Doctor," he answered, "I have come seeking advice on the solution to a seemingly insoluble problem."

Kurchatov nodded thoughtfully. "It is not hard to guess the source of your dilemma. I assume that my former colleagues back home have succeeded in their project."

Heisenberg scratched beneath his false goatee. "They have."

"And your organization is now faced with the problem of persuading them to hand the fruits of their labor over to you."

"Just so."

Kurchatov nodded again. "It is often helpful to approach a problem analytically. There are two ways to bring about a change in another's behavior. One can promise rewards, or one can threaten punishment. In other words, one can use the carrot, or one can use the stick."

"Or both," said Heisenberg.

"Or both," agreed Kurchatov. "I'm sure that you have gone over all the sticks that are at your disposal."

"We have," Heisenberg confirmed. "Dr. Teller has an aptitude for finding sticks. We cannot simply strike at the project itself, as we threatened to do in America, for it is beyond our reach. However, it has been suggested that we could send an intelligence agent into the Soviet Union to sabotage the atomic research project, or to assassinate Comrade Gordov in the hope that another power struggle would ensue, thereby distracting the Soviets for an unspecified length of time."

"Even if it worked," Kurchatov pointed out, "it would only be a temporary expedient. Eventually the political situation would stabilize, or the project would recover, and the problem would remain."

"Another suggestion was that the Soviet Union might be maneuvered into a war with the United States."

"As the United States is now a member of the Warsaw Pact, this would inevitably bring Poland and the other Pact nations into the war. President Raczynski would naturally come to you with a request that the Commission's stockpile of atomic weapons be placed at his disposal. Would I be correct in assuming that the number is currently in the approximate neighborhood of fifty?"

"Somewhere in that general vicinity, yes."

"Fifty atomic bombs, even used against primarily military targets, would result in millions of civilian deaths."

Heisenberg's eyes were closed. "Yes. The numbers would dwarf those of the Great War. In three months, more people would die in the USSR than Stalin himself managed to kill in twenty years."

"Precisely the sort of war the Commission was created to prevent," Kurchatov observed.

"There you have our dilemma," said Heisenberg as his eyes opened. "We can only force the Soviets to comply by fighting a terrible war. But if we allow the Soviets to keep control of their weapons, the result will be an atomic arms race, with a much worse war at the end of it. Or else a world poised forever on the brink of such a war."

"That is the road that the stick points to," Kurchatov agreed. "What of the carrot? What rewards can you offer the Soviets to persuade them to yield control of their atomic weapons?"

"It has been suggested that we might offer them our expertise in another technological field in exchange for their giving up atomic power. We might, for example, allow them to participate in a joint project with the British rocket scientists to put a man on the moon."

"And bring him back again?" said Kurchatov.

"Presumably, though one never knows with the Soviets."

"It is an interesting proposal, but I do not think Commissar Gordov would agree. Or if he did, it would be because he meant to acquire rocket technology without giving up atomic power. He might even seek to combine them, so that he could use rockets to carry atom bombs to targets on other continents. Are there any other carrots at your disposal?"

"We can promise them an equal voice among the councils of the Commission," said Heisenberg. "They would have an effective veto over any proposed use of atomic power. They would have the services of the Commission's own technicians in the creation of their own atomic power industry." Heisenberg sighed. "I do not believe that they would regard the gain in influence and expertise as worth the loss in sovereignty. The Americans certainly did not, and they are models of reason by comparison."

"And yet," Kurchatov observed, "the Americans *did* eventually yield."

Here Heisenberg chuckled. "They did and they did not. One practically has to be a physicist to appreciate the subtleties involved. In fact, Erwin Schrödinger has written a paper describing the American settlement in terms of quantum wave mechanics. The Americans simultaneously are and are not members of the Commission, simultaneously have and have not yielded control of their atomic weapons program. Until someone opens the box to see which it is, it is both, and since I have the key to the box, I will not let anyone open it." Heisenberg sighed again. "It is a pity we cannot apply a similar solution to the Soviet problem."

"I fear you are correct," said Kurchatov. "They . . . we . . . would not be content with such an ambiguous situation. In Russia, one is either the master, or one is the slave. One either wields the whip, or one endures it."

"Then you are saying," Heisenberg said, "that Comrade Gordov would accept nothing less than total submission on our part."

Kurchatov nodded. "Mere membership on the Commission would not be enough. He would insist on control over it."

"And control of the Commission would give him control of the world," said Heisenberg.

"Assuming the other powers would accept it," said Kurchatov, "which they would not. They would either resume control of their own weapons, or form an alternate Commission that excluded the Soviets."

"Which puts us in the same place as the stick," Heisenberg concluded. "Immediate war, or an arms race that leads to war, or an arms race that never ends."

"I am sorry, Director," said Kurchatov. "I fear that your trip here was wasted. I am unable to see a way clear of your dilemma."

Heisenberg sat with the nonexistent man in the nonexistent apartment while the world closed in around him. He thought again what a pity it was that they could not apply the American solution to the Soviet problem, to allow the Soviets to simultaneously control and not control the Commission. A political quantum wave function . . .

If the box stays closed, Heisenberg thought, the cat is neither alive nor dead.

In a sudden burst of mental light, Werner Heisenberg knew what he had to do.

DBTL 47: The Chips Stay Up

Moscow, USSR
17 February 1951

Defense Commissar Marshal Vasili Gordov looked at his guest with undisguised suspicion. "Let me see if I understand you correctly," he said. "You say you are here to offer me control of the Atomic Control Commission." Gordov spoke in Russian, the only language he knew, and since his guest did not understand it, Gordov's words were translated into German by Foreign Commissar Andrei Gromyko.

"That is it precisely, Herr Commissar," Werner Heisenberg answered after he had heard Gromyko's translation. "I have conferred with the leaders of the five Atomic Powers. Last month's detonation of an atomic device by your country puts the world in a very precarious situation. We do not believe that you would be willing to yield control of your atomic power program to us, and we do not wish to become embroiled in a war with you. Thus, the only option remaining is for us to yield control of our own atomic power programs to you." (Three true statements followed by a false statement, Heisenberg thought to himself. I've become quite the skilled diplomat.)

"You would allow us to station Soviet troops in your atom bomb production facilities?" Gromyko eventually relayed to Heisenberg.

"We would," Heisenberg said.

"You would allow us to transport your entire stockpile of atomic weapons to the Soviet Union?"

"We would," Heisenberg said.

"You would allow me to replace you as Director of the ACC with a man of my own choosing?"

"I would," Heisenberg said. (He remembered an epigram he used to tell his students: only in mathematics will you find truth. And now he was trying to prove it.)

"Do you take me for a fool, Director Heisenberg?"

"As I have explained, Herr Commissar, this is the only alternative to an atomic war with your country, and the Commission's sole reason for being is to prevent the outbreak of an atomic war. That being the case, logic impels us to place ourselves under your control. I ask you, Herr Commissar, what would you do in our place?"

When Gromyko had finished translating Heisenberg's last question, Gordov burst into laughter. Gromyko eventually said, "I would fight, Director Heisenberg, and I would not stop fighting until I had crushed my enemy. If I were in your place, I would not think a war too high a price to pay for uncontested control of atomic power, especially when most of the people who would die would be the enemy."

"That is not our way, Herr Commissar," said Heisenberg. "The Great War taught us that nothing is worth the cost of total war. Now that total war must inevitably cost the lives of tens of millions, that lesson is clearer than ever. Even a world dominated by yourself would be preferable to such a war. And that is why I have come here, to offer you dominion over the world." (Three true statements followed by a false statement leading to a false inference. Perhaps he could write a paper on the mathematics of deception.)

Gordov remained silent after Gromyko translated Heisenberg's words. He stared down onto the top of his desk and drummed his fingers while Heisenberg and Gromyko stood and waited. Minutes passed. Finally Gordov slammed his fist into the desk and barked out a single short phrase. Gromyko translated, "It is a trick."

Now it was Heisenberg's turn to remain silent. Gordov glared at him for a time, then resumed speaking. "I see what you are trying to do," Gromyko relayed. "You hope to bring about my ouster. You know as well as I do that I could trust no one with the power that you offer. Inside of a week, any man I made Director in your place would use his control of the Commission's atomic arsenal to depose me. And if I made myself Director, I would become lost in a maze of technical matters I did not understand, and I would quickly become a slave to the scientists and bureaucrats I commanded. No, Director Heisenberg, you will not trick me into accepting control of your Commission!" By now, Gordov had his shoe off, and was pounding the desk with it.

"But Herr Commissar," said Heisenberg, "if you will not consent to command us, and you will not consent to obey us, then what is to be done?"

"It is clear what I must do," said Gordov, and if anything the look he now gave Heisenberg was even more suspicious than before. "I do not like it, but if we are to avert a war that will leave the world in ruins and my country in ashes, then my course is clear. There is only one man in all the world I know I can trust not to make himself a tsar with the power of the atom. That is the man who has held that power already for five years. You, Director Heisenberg."

"Me, Herr Commissar?"

Gordov did not wait for Gromyko to translate Heisenberg's reply. "You, and you alone. You must take personal charge of my country's atomic weapons program. You must give the Soviet Union an atomic arsenal that is second to none You will report to me personally, and if I get even a *hint* that you are acting against the interests of the Soviet Union, then I will have you arrested, and the war you say you seek to avoid will begin. Is that all clear, Comrade Director?"

"All is clear, Herr Commissar," said Heisenberg.

Gromyko accompanied Heisenberg on his trip to the airport. The Director would fly to Geneva to set his affairs there in order, then return to the USSR to take charge of the atomic weapons facility in Nizhnevartovsk. Thereafter, he would alternate, two weeks in Geneva, two weeks in Nizhnevartovsk.

"It is an impossible situation," Gromyko said to him. "Having to faithfully serve Gordov on the one hand, and the Five Powers on the other. There will inevitably come a time when the two will come into conflict, and you will have to choose between them. When the chips are down, Director, whose side are you on?"

"Herr Gromyko," said Heisenberg, "my job is to see to it that the chips stay up."

DBTL 49: Everybody Wang Ch'ung Tonight

Nanking, China
9 March 1954

"So who is this Wang Ch'ung whose life you choose to celebrate today?" wondered Lazar Kaganovich.

Chiang Kai-shek answered him in fluent Russian. "Ah. Wang Ch'ung was a Confucian reformer who lived nineteen centuries ago. Confucianism was then entering a period of decline, when the original doctrines were being contaminated with a superstitious belief in omens and portents. Wang insisted that natural things occured spontaneously, and that any theory must be supported by concrete evidence and experimental proof. He thus represents an early harbinger of our modern scientific rationalist age."

Nanking was brightly decked out with banners and posters, celebrating both Wang's publication of his _Disquisitions_ and the visit of the chief of state of China's friend and ally the Soviet Union. The blue-and-white sun of China alternated everywhere with the yellow-and-red sickle-and-hammer of the USSR. Quotes from Wang hung side by side with quotes from Marx, Lenin and Stalin.

The evening's lavish dinner was over, and the Soviet delegation were busy drinking themselves insensible. Kaganovich, although not a practising Jew, still retained the abstemious habits that caused his people to be regarded with such suspicion by their Christian countrymen. It was the perfect opportunity for Chiang to have a quiet discussion with his erstwhile counterpart.

"Wang Ch'ung was not highly regarded for most of our history," Chiang continued. "However, with the advent of the Republic, with its commitment to the principles of science and rationalism, we have found Wang to be a fitting symbol of our nation's aspirations in the new age. We wish to be a modern, technological state like your own."

Kaganovich said, "There are some aspects of the Soviet Union which, alas, you may not wish to emulate."

"Do you perchance speak of the reforms which Marshal Gordov has recently begun to implement?" Chiang asked slyly.

"Mind you," Kaganovich cautioned, "I say nothing against our illustrious and victorious leader. Nevertheless, certain of his advisors have suggested policies which may not be in the best interests of our Union, and the Marshal, burdened as he is with the responsibilities of his position, may not be aware of the popular discontent to which they are giving rise."

Chiang knew that Kaganovich was referring to Gordov's recent policy of making membership in the Central Committee elective. Each Committee member would now be chosen by the Party members of a particular regional or economic sector by way of a secret ballot. Personally, Chiang was filled with admiration for Gordov's ploy. By making the Committee an elective body, Gordov had removed it from the control of the Party leadership. Chiang wasn't quite certain how Gordov intended to establish his own control over the election process, and hence over the Central Committee, but he was sure that Gordov had already worked out a way to do so. Were he in the Marshal's place, he would have.

Nevertheless, he did not let his admiration distract him from the important work of turning the situation to his own advantage. The Red Army had been instrumental in driving the Japanese from China, and in bringing the remaining warlords under his control. Now Red Army "advisors" remained in key positions throughout Chiang's military organization. Marshal Gordov showed no sign of withdrawing these advisors from China, despite Chiang's repeated requests. Chiang was currently making use of his erstwhile enemies among the outlawed Chinese Communists to pick them off one by one. Eliminating them all would be costly, though, and might well leave China facing the wrath of the small but growing Soviet atomic arsenal.

The only other plausible course of action would be for China to apply for membership in the League of Nations. This would almost certainly gain him immunity from Soviet counterattacks, but it would mean publicly renouncing his claims to Tibet and Formosa, both now League members, and in practical terms would also involve giving up all hope of recovering the Manchurian Soviet Socialist Republic, as it was now styled.

If the members of the Politburo could be persuaded to overthrow Gordov, though, and resume their own uncontested control over the USSR, Chiang would be in a position to take advantage of the resulting chaos and regain China's full independence, and perhaps even detach the USSR's newly-conquered eastern Republics into the bargain.

To Kaganovich he said, "I agree, the current policies being promulgated by the Marshal's subordinates are ill-advised, and will almost certainly lead to great harm for your country. If it were in my power to persuade the Marshal to reverse these policies, I would gladly do so. Unfortunately, I fear the Marshal does not count me among his closest advisors."

"Do not worry yourself on that account, my friend," Kaganovich assured him. "There are already many on the Politburo who feel as I do. Simply knowing that you stand beside us will do much good, and persuade many who now waver of the strength of our position."

"President Kaganovich," said Chiang, his features composed in a confident smile, "you may count on me to the bitter end."

DBTL 50: Green Hectares

Huterowo, Belarus Devo, Polish Commonwealth
22 June 1954

"Lavi!" exclaimed Eva Gabor Romanov in her Hungarian-accented Polish. "How long are you going to be up there? Your hotcakes are getting cold!"

Lavrenti Romanov, hanging precariously from the telephone pole, said, "The operator says I have to deposit another zloty for the next three minutes!"

[On second thought, let's leave the Romanovs to their rural idyll and turn our attention elsewhere.]

DBTL 50: State of Emergency

Nizhnevartovsk, USSR
22 June 1954

Werner Heisenberg reflected, not for the first time, on what a sad thing it was that the Soviets had succeeded in copying the Polish atom bomb project so closely. Whether through coincidence or design, they had managed to establish their own atomic weapons project in a place that was just like the Pripet Marshes, only worse.

There were the same dismal vistas of unhealthy-looking plant life, the same sense of total isolation from civilization. The only difference was with Siberia's insects, who outclassed their Polish counterparts in size, persistence, and unavoidability. He found himself sympathizing with the Soviet scientists and engineers who wanted to test their weapons on as much of the surrounding landscape as possible.

"If we set them *all* off here in Siberia, we won't have any left to use against anyone else," he told his Deputy Director, Andrei Sakharov. "Marshal Gordov would not be pleased."

"Not that you would mind using up all our bombs in tests," Sakharov said with a chuckle.

"I neither confirm nor deny," said Heisenberg. It had been three years since Gordov had put him in charge of the Soviet atomic weapons project, and Heisenberg had spent every day since then wondering if the mercurial Marshal would decide to have him taken out and shot. So far he had managed to convince Gordov that his direction of the Nizhnevartovsk Project was providing the Soviet Union with the most advanced atomic weaponry in the world. One day, he knew, Gordov would decide that Heisenberg was trying to sabotage the Project. Heisenberg would be arrested and executed, and Gordov would go to war with the League of Nations to insure the continued existence of his independent atomic arsenal. And the worst thing was, the longer Heisenberg managed to delay that war, the worse it would be when it finally came.

Heisenberg's office was on the top floor of the Main Administration Building. The windows provided a panoramic view of the cluster of workshops, laboratories, offices and other buildings of the Project, and of the endless hectares of sickly green vegatation beyond. Being six stories up, Heisenberg could see for quite a ways off. Thus, it was he who first saw the dust trail as the column of vehicles made its way up the lonely road that connected the Project to the actual town of Nizhnevartovsk.

Puzzled, he picked up his phone and rang Sakharov. "Comrade Sakharov, do you know of any supply convoys scheduled to arrive today?"

"We aren't expecting any," his deputy said. "Why?"

"Because there are a number of vehicles coming up the road, and I wasn't expecting any."

Sakharov said, "Perhaps General Malinovsky is rotating some of his troops."

Heisenberg sighed. "I suppose I'd better call and ask him."

General Rodion Malinovsky was Director of Security for the Project. Like Heisenberg, Malinovsky reported directly to Marshal Gordov. Heisenberg was well aware of the fact that Malinovsky's primary concern as Director of Security was Heisenberg himself. If Gordov ever did decide to eliminate Heisenberg, Malinovsky would be the man to order his execution. He might even pull the trigger himself.

Heisenberg, who was as human as the next man, tried as much as possible to avoid contact with the man who would eventually kill him. Besides, Heisenberg's Russian was not terribly fluent, and that was the only language Malinovsky spoke.

He punched up the General's private line, and the familiar voice said, "Da?"

"It is I, Comrade General," said Heisenberg. "I can see vehicles approaching the compound. Are you expecting them?"

"I am expecting no vehicles," Malinovsky answered. "What kind of vehicles?"

"They are too far to see well," Heisenberg said.

"I will look into it," Malinovsky said, and hung up. Heisenberg's displeasure at being so abruptly cut off was tempered with relief that the conversation was over.

His relief ended quickly as Malinovsky entered his office accompanied by his chief aide, Major Dmitri Yazov. "Show me these vehicles," he said to Heisenberg.

Heisenberg pointed out his window at the line of vehicles slowly approaching. Malinovsky pulled a set of binoculars out of a case on his belt and deftly focused them. "My God," he exploded, "it's an invasion!"

"What are they?" Heisenberg asked.

"Armored cars and trucks," Malinovsky answered. "And some artillery." Still looking through the binoculars, Malinovsky said, "Major, have the troops take up a defensive position by the fence. I'm going out to investigate." Putting the binoculars away again, the General strode out of Heisenberg's office. The physicist followed him.

An hour later, Malinovsky's men had dug themselves in behind the compound's barbed wire fence. A roadblock had been set up two hundred meters beyond the gate. The lead unit of the "invasion force" as Malinovsky called it, an armored car with machine guns mounted, had come to a halt in front of the roadblock.

From his command post in the guardhouse, Malinovsky had established radio contact with someone in the invasion force. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" Heisenberg heard him say in his usual direct way.

A voice on the radio squawked back, "We've been sent by the State Committe for the State of Emergency to reinforce the Nizhnevartovsk Project."

"State Committee for the what?" demanded Malinovsky. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why haven't I heard about this from Marshal Gordov?"

"Marshal Gordov was taken ill yesterday. General Secretary Mikoyan has established the State Committee for the State of Emergency to administer the government until he recovers."

Heisenberg motioned to Malinovsky, and the General cut off the radio. "It's a coup," said Heisenberg, "it must be. Mikoyan and the Politburo are trying to depose Gordov."

Malinovsky's brows drew together as he pondered Heisenberg's statement. At last he said, "You may be right, Comrade Director. What do you suggest we do?"

Heisenberg was momentarily taken aback. It was the first time in three years that the General had sought his advice. It was a moment before Heisenberg figured out why. Malinovsky wasn't sure which side he should be on. If Gordov had already been ousted there would be no point in opposing Mikoyan and the Politburo. On the other hand, if Gordov managed to put down the coup, anyone who had come out in support of the Politburo would be in for a hard time. Heisenberg remembered a phrase he had heard Oppenheimer use during a meeting in Warsaw: passing the buck. Malinovsky was letting Heisenberg make the decision so he could disclaim responsibility if it should turn out to be the wrong one.

Very well then, Heisenberg told himself. What *should* they do?

Given Gordov's control of the Soviet military, Mikoyan's Committee probably had relatively little firepower at its disposal. They would need something to counter the might of the Red Army, and Heisenberg felt unpleasantly certain that the Nizhnevartovsk Project was that something. They would use Heisenberg's atomic weapons to blackmail their way to absolute power. And if Gordov refused to let himself be blackmailed?

The result was obvious: an atomic-powered coup d'etat. Rebellious military units and cities instantly obliterated. An empire bludgeoned into submission with an atomic club.

"We fight," Heisenberg said finally. "Let Mikoyan build his own atom bombs, because he's not getting any of mine."

Malinovsky switched the radio back on. He said, "Director Heisenberg denies the authority of the State Committee." Resetting the radio frequency, Malinovsky continued, "All units, prepare to resist attack."

"Carry on, General," Heisenberg said. Malinovsky saluted him -- another first -- and turned back to the radio.

Heisenberg left the guardhouse at a brisk walk, making for the Main Administration Building. He'd have to get Sakharov to round up some of the engineers. Just in case Malinovsky failed to hold off the attackers, he wanted to be ready to destroy as many of the production facilities, and as many of the existing bombs, as possible.

And if all else failed, he could always set off one of the bombs himself.

To parts 51-60